


Skeleton Crew

by Bookkeepper



Category: Guns of Icarus Alliance (Video Game)
Genre: Airships, Gen, Steampunk, a hint of mystery, bonefish: exists, dieselpunk?, ghost story, spooky!, them: bonefish isn't real it can't hurt you, vaguely plausible explanations for game mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkeepper/pseuds/Bookkeepper
Summary: There's a certain minimum number of people required to keep things running at a remote watchtower like this. For the night shift, that number is usually smaller - who's gonna try to navigate the mountains at night? But tonight, there's a ship approaching which seems to do fine with no crew at all...





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooooo, it's a spooky Halloween story! Part of a small community event where everyone is invited to tell some spooky stories about the spookiest of ships: the bonefish. So obviously I'm gonna focus on this instead of actual work things. Happy spooktober!

Mikhail looked out into the dark sky and sighed. A cold wind blew from the northwest, and the observation deck of the watchtower was exposed to the elements. He shifted his feet to try and regain some feeling in them. He briefly considered stealing Nasim’s covered lantern for its warmth, but a glance to his side revealed she was using it to read the previous day’s issue of the Anvala Free Press. Noticing his attention, she looked up.

“Don’t even think about it. Go get your own.”

“You’re not even supposed to have it, you know. Blackout conditions,” he replied.

“Maxwell says it’s fine.”

“Maxwell is terrible at his job. He ought to be out here in the cold with us.” She nodded at that.

“True enough. Still, sometimes I’m tempted. Nobody ever comes this way, and certainly not at night. Nobody would know if we took a break from the night shift.”

Mikhail knew she had a point. The treacherous mountains that ringed the Fjord Baronies served as a natural defense, and airships mostly stuck to the approved trade routes. This miserable little outpost was lucky to see any traffic at all. But the Lords back in the capital were concerned about rumors of war on the horizon, and so they ordered that the borders be secured, and so Mikhail was here, in the dark, regretting having ever signed up to defend the homeland.

Well, at least they gave him a good coat when he enlisted.

He returned his attention to listening for the sound of distant airship engines, but all he could hear was the wind and Nasim’s paper. He wanted to tell her to stow it, because it kept fluttering in the wind and distracting him, but it was a bad idea to antagonize her. Besides, he was really more annoyed that he hadn’t thought to bring something to read, himself. Maybe his own lamp, too.

The wind suddenly picked up, and Mikhail shivered. A distant flash of lightning silently lit up the mountainside, followed by the delayed rumble of thunder, echoing off the rocky terrain. Nasim gave up on her reading as the high winds tried to snatch away her paper. She closed the shutter of her lantern, plunging the observation deck into darkness.

“Storm’s coming,” Mikhail observed. Nasim hummed in agreement and moved to stand next to him at the railing. After a moment, she hooked the shuttered lantern to the railing between them, and he nodded in thanks as he warmed his hands by the heat it still radiated.

“You know, the smart thing to do would be to go join Maxwell,” she said, gaze fixed on the approaching storm. “Nobody would be stupid enough to try and navigate the cliffs at night _and_ in a storm. No point staying up here.”

He was about to agree, but there was a sudden crash of thunder as the clouds overhead lit up. Both of them jumped, and the lantern was knocked off the railing with a dull thud. Nasim cursed and scrambled to pick it up in the dark. Mikhail could feel his pulse racing, not just from the sudden noise. For a moment, the lightning had illuminated…something. Possibly.

“Looks like the storm’s here. Come on,” said Nasim, heading for the ladder.

“You go on ahead, I’ll be down in a minute,” Mikhail responded, “thought I saw something.”

“There’s nothing out there,” she shook her head, “but you can stay if you like. I’m going to go put the kettle on.”

Mikhail ignored her, peering out into the darkness, trying to recall the brief glimpse of a dark shape. Something about it felt wrong. He shivered as an icy cold sensation ran up his spine. _‘It’s just the cold,’_ he thought, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. The storm was moving oddly fast, though. ‘ _Just wait for the next lightning strike, then you’ll see it was nothing, and you can go have a nice, hot cup of tea with the others,’_ he told himself.

Lightning flashed, closer still. The thunder reverberated in his bones, and for one long, terrible moment Mikhail was frozen, struck with some kind of irrational and primal fear. There was definitely something out there.

He stumbled over and pulled the cord that would ring an alarm bell down in the base of the tower, then headed for the tarp covering the large searchlight mounted at the center of the platform. He fumbled the knots on the tie-down lines, fingers numb. He could barely hear over the howling wind and his own heartbeat, but he could feel the vibrations of someone on the ladder. Maxwell popped up just as he was struggling to remove the tarp without the wind grabbing it. The other man had to almost shout to be heard.

“Must be some crazy bastards, to be out in this storm! How many ships, what class?”

“I didn’t get a good look,” Mikhail lied, “just a dark shape backlit by the lightning.” Just thinking about the looming, irregular shape made his skin crawl, and it was certainly not any kind of airship he’d been trained to recognize. It was shaped like…well, like dread and nightmares was the best he could put it. But if he tried to tell Maxwell that, he wouldn’t believe him.

As if to punctuate his statement, the sky flashed again. Neither of the men was looking up, focused on the searchlight. Rain began to fall, but sporadically, as they worked to unlock the swivel mount.

“Nasim!” Maxwell yelled down the ladder, “Ready on the searchlight?”

“One moment,” she shouted back, from the semi-enclosed platform just below the observation deck. It was mostly equipment storage, but it had recently been converted to store the voltaic piles for the searchlight. It was the latest technology, purchased from the Angleans, and though the electric lamp was brighter than the previous oil-burning ones, it could also be temperamental. Nasim pulled the lid off of one of the large vats, checking that the copper plates were properly submerged in brine. She knew the Angleans had some other way of making electricity that didn’t involve massive, heavy voltaic piles, but that was not a technology they were willing to trade. She shrugged and closed the lid, then flipped the large switch to see if it would work.

Up above, there was a brief spark before the searchlight turned on, light spilling from behind the shutters. Mikhail slid them open, and a beam of brilliant light illuminated the approaching fog bank and dark clouds. Maxwell began sweeping the light in a careful search pattern as Nasim joined them.

“That fog’s not gonna help,” she grumbled. Mikhail ignored her. Despite the cold, he was sweating. Where was it? Another flash, this time loud, like a gunshot.

“There! Over there!” he shouted, trying to ignore the fact that this time, he had seen the lightning emanating _from_ the mystery silhouette.

“Where?”

“I saw it too, that way!” Nasim pointed.

Maxwell complied, sweeping the light over the indicated area. Nothing but fog and rain, churning in the wind, until –

“What in the name of good Gabriel…” he muttered in shock, as a ship emerged from the fog.

All three knew the protocol, to retrieve the signal flares, order the unknown ship to communicate its intentions, alert the hidden artillery down in the valley to stand by…but they were all frozen, pinned to the spot by some chilling aura.

The ship was large, easily capital-size, with a balloon envelope suspending a main hull from numerous cables. It didn’t so much as fly - it prowled, silently, for there was no doubt this ship was a predator and all who laid eyes upon it were prey. It was covered in oddly shaped plates, jutting out at all angles, but the plates were not armor – instead they looked distressingly skeletal. Vertebrae lined the dorsal side of the balloon; large panels sprouted from the hull like ribs. At its bow, a set of serrated jawbones extended out, like the mandibles of a beetle. Spiked protrusions lined its sides, and from these bolts of lightning emerged with a deafening crack.

And then, in the most surreal moment of Mikhail’s life, the ship quietly crept towards them, until it was unmistakably heading for the rarely-used gantry and mooring point. Its engines cut once it had approached to a scant handful of meters, drifting to a stop in the eerie silence. The wind and rain died, leaving only the roiling fog.

Maxwell was the first to speak. “Did…did an _Ancients-damned_ ghost ship just present itself for inspection?!”

“Don’t be daft,” said Nasim, “It’s not a ghost ship.” There was a pause. “I’ll, uh, grab some lanterns and the logbook, yeah? Got to follow procedure,” she added, a bit too quickly.

“I’m pretty sure the procedure says nothing about ships _without a crew_ ,” said Maxwell.

“Well, maybe they’re shy. Mikhail, come on.”

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, “Let’s go inspect the creepy ship. Just another boring night shift.”

The ship in question was content to loom over them, noiseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonefish: 'look, dude, i'm just trying to get through customs, i got places to be, hurry it up please'
> 
> What is the tech level of this setting? I have no idea. Blame everything on the Angleans.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the work of a few minutes to climb down, grab some necessary equipment, and climb up to the storage platform, where Nasim and Mikhail worked the winches to lower the boarding gantry to the deck of the unknown ship. They had elected to leave the searchlight on and pointing at the ship, since without it the visibility in the fog was close to zero. They couldn’t even tell if the defense stations in the valley had seen their signals.

The gantry touched down with a thud. “Nobody’s there to meet us,” Mikhail observed, glancing between his compatriots.

Nasim shrugged, and cupped her hands to project her voice. “Hello there!” she shouted. The fog seemed to dampen the sound, and the mystery ship remained silent. Nasim looked at Mikhail, then indicated the far end of the gantry with a jerk of her head. Mikhail gave a slight nod, then turned to Maxwell, who bit his lip before ducking his head in a ‘after-you’ gesture.

Nobody moved.

“Right. Okay.” Maxwell sighed. “You both have a timepiece? Good. Forget procedure, here’s how we do this. Give ourselves 10 minutes, split up, search the ship. If we find anyone, or there’s any funny business, get out and we’ll meet here.” He gripped his lantern tightly as he spoke.

“Agreed. Something feels…off.”

“I’ll take aft; Nasim, amidships, and Mikhail, the bow.”

“Well, no point in standing here,” Mikhail noted. He lifted his lantern and walked forwards, the other two following. As his boots touched the deck, he shivered. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards the bow. “See you in 10 minutes,” he called over his shoulder, and then the dim glow of his fellows’ lanterns was blurred by fog.

Mikhail moved quickly along the deck, trying his best to navigate the unfamiliar ship. The layout was strange; there were catwalks to nowhere, and the rigging lacked handholds. Out of curiosity, he ran a hand along one of the bone-like armor plates that was close enough to touch – and then recoiled as his hand met smooth bone instead of cold metal. ‘ _What the hell?’_ he thought, ‘ _that can’t be actual bone. Where do you even find a creature with bones that big_ _?!’_

Soon, he came upon a hatch that looked like it would lead to the internal cabins. He pulled to open it, but it held fast. Running his lantern along the seam, he looked for a locking mechanism, only to come to the realization that the hatch was not a hatch – it was the image of a hatch engraved in the deck. ‘ _Strange. Almost like this ship was never meant for a crew at all. No cabins, no ladders, no helm – I haven’t seen any maintenance points or gunports, either.’_

Suddenly, there was a clanking noise from behind him, and Mikhail whipped around, fully prepared to find a terrifying beast. Instead, he saw nothing. The deck was empty.

“Nasim?” he said, shakily, “was that you?” For a moment, nothing happened. And then, from his right, another noise, like a large mallet hitting something. Mikhail yelped, and as he turned in the direction of the noise he caught a glimpse of a ghostly figure in an orange, full-body jumpsuit, out of the corner of his eye.

“Who’s there?” he called, raising his lantern threateningly. But the figure was already gone. He took a step in the direction where he had seen it – then the deck vanished beneath him.

Mikhail screamed. He must have slipped somehow, because now he was falling, the wind growing louder in his ears as he reached terminal velocity. ‘ _But that makes no sense,’_ he thought, in the part of his mind that was not busy screaming, ‘ _I was in the middle of the deck, far from the edges.’_

He was yelling, flailing, falling into the fog as his vision faded to black. Then, quite abruptly, he was yelling and flailing on the deck of the ship, exactly where he had been. Heart pounding, he gasped for breath, watching his lantern roll along the floor and trying desperately to comprehend what had just happened.

‘ _Okay. That definitely counts as grade-A funny business. Time to leave.’_

He scooped up his lantern and began making his way back to the gantry point, carefully retracing his steps. As he crept past the nonsensical catwalks, he checked his pocket watch, hoping that ten minutes had passed and he would find his companions waiting for him. No such luck – six and a half minutes. Had it really been that short? Up ahead he could make out the glow of the searchlight in the fog, aimed at the gantry point. His steps quickened; the deck here was flat and level, so he wouldn’t slip. Almost there – check the time again. Six and a half minutes – No. He stopped, scrutinizing his pocket watch. The second hand ticked over, painfully slow. Mikhail tapped it, trying to get it to work. ‘ _Perhaps I landed on it when I fell? But I didn’t really fall, did I?’_ The second hand ticked again, even slower. ‘ _Forget it. Get back to the gantry. I just lost track of time, that’s all,’_ he thought. But as he tried to walk, the deck beneath him stayed put.

Mikhail panicked. He could walk unhindered, but the world didn’t move. He tried walking faster. He was inching forwards. He tried running. Sprinting. The world reluctantly moved, agonizingly slow. The gantry was visible now. He kept running. The ship was trapping him. Keeping him here. He kept running. He could hear someone’s ragged breathing. Probably his own.

His foot touched the gantry, and time snapped back. Everything snapped back – the storm was raging once again, and Mikhail ran up the ramp in the pounding rain and fierce wind. He stumbled, slammed his knee into something metal, but he ignored the pain and kept going. He made it back to the tower, and fumbled for the winches to raise the gantry - his lantern was gone, dropped at some point, and it was dark. Some rational part of him paused – Nasim and Maxwell could still be on it. Should he abandon them?

The decision was made for him. The ship sent out a lightning strike, and for a moment he was blind. Ears ringing, he let out a wordless cry as his vision cleared and he saw the gantry was shattered, gone. Soaked and shivering, he clambered up to the searchlight and swung it wildly, trying to find the strange ship or any trace of his comrades, but there was nothing, the fog was everywhere, the wind battered him, and his grip was slipping as the darkness closed in, drowning him-

Silence.

Darkness.

Mikhail was looking out into the darkness, leaning casually on the railing. Nasim was by the ladder, folded paper under one arm; the searchlight was secured under its tarp. Thunder rolled in the distance, echoing in the valley, behind him.

Mikhail looked at Nasim, and the bewilderment he felt was mirrored in her expression.

“Did that…happen?” Nasim found her voice first.

Mikhail checked the time. “Half past two in the morning.” He paled, quickly doing the math in his head. “We just jumped forty-three minutes.”

Nasim shivered. “I’m calling it a night. Whatever just happened, I’m – I can’t deal with that now. Come on,” she said, gesturing for him to follow, “I’ll go put the kettle on.”

Mikhail nodded, and began to climb down the ladder after her. He paused for a moment upon hearing the distant rumble of the storm, now long past them, and took one last look at the skies.

“After all,” he murmured to himself, “there’s nobody out there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate ending:  
> Silence.  
> Darkness.  
> Then, above him, words:  
> CONNECTING TO SERVER…
> 
> My original idea for this was "how terrifying would a lag spike be if you were the person on the airship" and then stuff just happened from there. Poor Mikhail must have joined an EU server. Also, some not-very-subtle nods to how the bonefish is an unused concept ship and thus has no actual paths for players (the AI just magically follow their pathing, so they get around fine!). A little bit meta, in the end, but I quite like it. I dunno how scary it really is, I'm not much of a horror person.


End file.
